


Wild Things

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Healing Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Angst, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Imprinting, Reader has a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: “What…?” Steve started to ask, trailing off as his nostrils flared and he took in the heady scent you were putting off. “... you’re in heat.”You groaned. “Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” you gritted out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes / Reader
Comments: 111
Kudos: 793





	1. Chapter 1

You were tired, angry, and in a good amount of pain. You’d been strapped into what you were fairly certain used to be an electric chair in an abandoned Soviet prison somewhere near Minsk, and you were _pissed off_. It had been three days since you’d been taken captive, and it was your own stupid fault; Tony had declared the building clear of hostages but you’d _just had_ to go back in, because you’d see children’s playthings in one of the unused rooms at the old hotel that had served as headquarters for the terrorist mob you were fighting and not one of the free hostages was a child.

You did find the kid, though. An adorable green-eyed toddler with soft brown curls and a gummy smile, dressed in an adult’s dirty t-shirt and holding onto a scraggly rag doll. Apparently she was the terrorist group leader’s daughter, recently stolen from her mother’s home in Zhodzina; so while technically, Tony had been right and they had gotten all of the hostages out of the hotel, you had been just as right in identifying that there was a child present.

It all worked out for the best; once the hostages were out, the team was going to step back and have local authorities handle the takedown. The last thing any of you would have wanted would have been for a little girl to get caught up in that sort of violence, so you counted it as a win -- except for the part where the baby’s father, who you were referring to exclusively as ‘Fucknut’, conked you on the back of the head with a fire extinguisher.

Apparently one Avenger was a greater bargaining chip than thirty-seven senior citizens hijacked while on a bus trip to a folk music concert.

You spit a mouthful of blood onto the dirty concrete floor, poking your tongue around your mouth to make sure the last blow hadn’t broken a tooth. Scabs and scars you could deal with; a visit to a dentist in your near future, you could not. Thankfully, you didn’t feel anything loose or jagged.

“Keep hitting me like that, Fucknut, I dare you,” you grunted out with a glare. “When my friends get here and see me like this, you’re going to be lucky if you walk outta this place in one piece.”

He leaned forward with an evil little grin and patted your swollen cheek meanly. “No one will find us here,” he told you. “We have all the time in the world to… _play_.”

You turned your face away in disgust. “Jesus Christ, man. Ease up on the Axe. And maybe learn to brush your teeth. Fucking hell.”

He growled and gave two quick punches to your ribs. “Shut that fucking mouth before I find something to shut it with,” he grunted.

“Scratch that,” you said, panting. “When my friends get here -- and they will, Fucknut, they don’t call us in on your kinda bullshit for nothing, we’re the fucking best at what we do -- and they cut me loose? You won’t get out of here in one piece because I’m going to rip your fucking tongue out and shove it straight up your ass.”

The communications earpiece that Fucknut and his compatriots (Dickhead, Asshole, and The Skinny Redheaded One, respectively) hadn’t found when they divested you of your weapons crackled to life suddenly, causing you to startle just slightly. You hadn’t needed to worry; Fucknut seemed to think he was the sole cause of your discomfort.

“Language,” a gruff, acerbic voice scolded in your ear, accompanied by a symphony of muted laughter.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, that was _one time_ , and you weren’t even there to hear it Bucky!” Steve grumbled; you bit your sore cheek to keep from laughing.

“Alright, play nice now children,” Tony called, sounding more amused than anything. “Okay, kid, give us an idea where you are in there, the place is built like a steel trap and I can’t see shit from up here.”

“So what is this, like the execution chamber or what?” you asked loudly.

Fucknut nodded. “Used to be,” he agreed, walking towards the heavy door when he heard a knock. The Skinny Redheaded One was standing there seeming very uncomfortable when the door opened, and you could swear that he almost looked remorseful. Whatever he was feeling, he clearly didn’t feel bad enough to shirk his duty, and handed over a large syringe filled with some clear yellow viscous-looking fluid.

“Now let’s see if we can’t turn it into our own little love nest,” Fucknut told you with a grin. 

“What the fuck is in that needle?!” you asked, feeling the first real pangs of panic since you’d been taken. 

He only grinned and stabbed the needle into your arm.

Bucky was the first to reach you and he didn’t notice it at all. Of course he didn’t; it hadn’t taken full effect and the room already reeked of blood and sweat and Axe Attract, which Fucknut seemed to use in lieu of shampoo, soap, toothpaste, and deodorant. Bucky, being Bucky, simply shoved your captor out of he way and tore open the leather straps they had used to bind you to the old electric chair.

He nodded his head towards where Fucknut was swearing and getting to his feet. “You wanna do your thing here or should I just shoot’im?”  
You smiled. “Please, allow me,” you said, and in a blur of movement you threw Fucknut straight through the iron-barred window, the force behind your throw enough to break the old rusted metal and send him careening to the ground three stories below.

You weren’t really that fast, nor did you have super-strength; Bruce explained it to you once, saying you had a way of moving between air molecules that gave you bursts of speed and a stronger force behind your blows. It was a bit too cerebral for you, personally; you just liked the abilities it gave you and left it at that.

“You’re getting soft, Barnes,” you told him, uncharacteristically struggling to catch your breath. “I’d thought you’d come in shooting first, asking questions later.”

Bucky shrugged noncommittally. “Steve gets pissy if I rack up a body count,” he said, and you laughed. Bucky gave you one of his signature tight-lipped smiles and looked poised to speak again, but the sudden sharp stabbing pain in your abdomen caused you to double over with a groan and his expression turned to one of alarm.

By the time the others found you -- Tony carrying the toddler in one arm while she got sticky baby fingerprints all over his suit’s visor -- you were curled in on yourself on the floor, whimpering and clutching at your stomach.

“What…?” Steve started to ask, trailing off as his nostrils flared and he took in the heady scent you were putting off. “... you’re in heat.”

You groaned. “Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” you gritted out.

Tony frowned. “I thought you were on suppressants?” he asked, the latter half of his sentence coming out muffled as the little girl snapped his visor shut and laughed gleefully. She laughed even harder when he popped it back open.

You managed out a “Meh”, gesturing your hand towards the spent syringe on the floor beside the old chair.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Bucky groused, reaching to pick up the syringe with a gloved hand. “What’d they shoot you up with doll?”

You had an abrasive, profanity-filled rant prepared about how you had _no fucking clue what they shot you up with Barnes, do you think there was a pharmacist on hand to fucking ask?_ but you instead cringed through another hot spark of pain in your belly and the only word that fell from your lips was a tearful wanton “Alpha!”

The three Alpha men standing in the room shared alarmed looks back and forth.

Tony let out a slow whoosh of air. “We’re in trouble here,” he said. Steve nodded slowly in agreement.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, no shit,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

You got to your feet slowly once the cramps had stopped, brushing the dirt from the filthy concrete floor off of your clothes. You were flushed, your eyes a little too wide and a little too bright; you took two great gulps of air before speaking.

“I’m okay,” you said, huffing another breath. “I’ll be alright. Let’s just get the fuck out of here and get home, okay?”

They didn’t move, clearly unconvinced.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tony asked skeptically, the toddler still babbling in his ear.

You glared. “I just said I’m fine,” you reminded, crossing your arms over your chest. “And even if I weren’t, sticking around here isn’t going to do me any god damn good, so let’s just fucking _move_.”

Bucky regarded you for a long quiet moment and then nodded. “You heard the lady,” he said, gesturing towards the door with the M249 he carried. “Let’s move.”

Their eyes were on you as you led the way out of the prison; Fucknut and his brethren hadn’t bothered to blindfold you on the way in, just bound your hands and feet tightly, so you knew the way without issue. You walked fine, stumbling only once and putting a hand to the cold stone wall to keep your balance.

Steve said your name sharply, taking a step towards you, an arm out to offer support. “Do you need me to…” he began.

You glanced over your shoulder with a glare. “I’m fine, Steve. I haven’t had anything to eat in a couple days so I’m a little dizzy, is all. I can walk out of here on my own two feet.” Feeling suddenly awful for reacting so meanly to someone only offering you help, you forced a soft smile. “You’re welcome to fuss over me once we’re in the quinjet,” you added.

Fucknut was being tended to by medical personnel outside the prison gate; he looked to have broken both of his legs, and possibly his pelvis. You thought it was a pity he didn’t land on his head, and spare his child’s mother the grief of explaining to their daughter why daddy was in jail. 

You had kinda been hoping he would still be on the ground, so you could have given him a sharp kick to the ribs as you passed, but at least you could smile sweetly at him while he groaned, strapped down to a stabilizing board.

Once you made a statement to the local police and were finally able to get on the quinjet and relax a little, you realized you were drenched in sweat, even as you shivered from cold. It wasn’t a good sign; you hadn’t dealt with anything like this in a good long time, but you knew all of the symptoms. You swore under your breath, wishing Bucky had busted in the door to the execution chamber just two or three minutes earlier and saved you from being shot up with whatever it was Fucknut had in the syringe.

Steve tucked a blanket over you as soon as you strapped into a seat on the jet; you raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing, as Bucky chose that moment to press a bottle of water and a fistful of protein bars into your hands. The water was one of Bruce’s concoctions, some electrolyte and mineral loaded purified thing; it had a vaguely medicinal taste but it was cool and wet, and slaked a thirst you hadn’t even know you had.You drank it down quickly and Bucky handed you another just as you finished.

“Slow down, doll,” he reminded gently, strapping in beside you. “Liable to make yourself sick if you go too quick.”

You nodded, taking another great gulp of water. “Thanks Bucky,” you told him. “Those dickbags never considered they’d have to _feed_ a hostage… good thing they didn’t end up with all of those old folks, they’d’ve been dropping like flies.”

Steve took the seat on the other side. “Am I allowed to ask how you’re feeling?” he asked carefully.

You snorted. “Yeah, sorry for biting your head off before,” you told him. “I’m not… I think we both know what’s happening here, and I’m not even remotely prepared to deal with this bullshit right now.”

“When was your last heat?” Steve pressed gently. “Do you do monthly or quarterly suppressant supplements?” He was thinking ahead, trying to do the mental math and figure out how long they had to get you home and how bad it was going to be for you. He probably didn’t even realize how deeply personal the questions he was asking were. Oh well, you thought. He was only trying to help, after all.

“Uh… well, I take a monthly dose,” you said slowly, cheeks coloring with heat even as you shivered. “But I… look, I know you’re supposed to skip every fourth month, _I know_ , but things have been really rough for awhile, I didn’t want to leave you guys on your own when you might need me and I didn’t… I didn’t want to deal with a heat, okay? That shit’s not just inconvenient, it’s embarrassing as fuck!”

Tony could hear your rant from the cockpit and called your name out in a brassy tone that you knew belied a sense of worry. “How long exactly has it been since you let yourself go into a heat cycle?” he asked. He was no biology expert, but as an Alpha he knew how important it was for your health and well-being that you experience a heat at least every few months.

You groaned and dropped your head. “Something like… two and a half years?”

Bucky swore and Steve shook his head, saying your name in an admonishing tone. 

“So you’re more’n two years deep without a proper heat and jacked up on some unknown stimulant strong enough to bust through two fuckin’ straight years of suppressants?” Bucky asked incredulously. “And you keep tellin’ us you’re _okay_?!”

“I will be FINE, Barnes!” you snapped at him, glaring. “We just need to get back to the compound and medical can give me something to counteract…”

“Oh no you don’t,” Tony warned, voice taking on a surprising note of concern, so different from his usual teasing manner. “We get back and you’re going into isolation. We’ll figure out a way to keep an eye on you but there’s no way we can stop this once it’s started. I can’t believe you let yourself go this long -- you know how unhealthy that is!”

“It’s bullshit, is what is is!” you shouted. “You don’t have to worry about any of this -- not any of you! You get to just go about your day to day crap and get your knot off when you find some poor Omega burnin’ up like a god damned stray cat! You don’t have to have your fucking life interrupted!”

“Look, we know it’s inconvenient…” Steve started, trying to calm you.

“Inconvenient my ass!” you snapped back at him. “It’s a fucking nightmare! I worked my ass off to get on this team and I’m not gonna blow off my duty to all of you just to lock myself up and be miserable for a fucking week!”

“Hey, hey, calm it down,” Bucky told you, voice low and carrying no trace of that touch of condescending you’d detected from both Tony and Steve; you knew they both meant well, but they had no idea what you were going through. “No one’s tryin’ to tell you it’s an easy piece, doll. We know you go through hell.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just a little out of sorts at the moment. Let’s just get home, okay? Okay, guys?” 

Steve nodded; Bucky gave you a stilted smile.

“Nonstop service to New York, thank you for flying the friendly skies!” Tony called from the cockpit, and you couldn’t help but laugh before settling in for the long ride, eyes closing even as your chest heaved with the oncoming heat. You tilted against Bucky, dropping your head against his shoulder as you fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

While you slept, Bucky was in his own personal hell. He had never been a pushy Alpha, not when he was young and first presented, before he’d gone to war and had his life and his will stolen from him. He enjoyed the scent of a pretty young Omega like any other Alpha but he didn’t chase after them like some did, didn’t try to force what he wanted on them. There was still that little bit of a thrill there, when the enticing scent of an Omega passed his way, along with a flirty smile or a wink.

Things had changed, since Hydra.

Bucky never knew if it was by design, or just an accident of fate, a combination of the torture, the bastardized serum, the ice… Mostly, he didn’t want to know. He was an Alpha, they hadn’t managed to take that away from him, but they might as well have, because being there, your body cuddled as close to him as it could get while the two of you were strapped into your seats, completely awash in the most delicious Omega scent he had ever encountered, Bucky felt _nothing_.

There was a gorgeous Omega in heat curled against him and Bucky’s body just didn’t react. It couldn’t -- it hadn’t, not even with a Beta or on his own, since he’d had his mind back. Since before then, really, but some part of him thought that was a blessing; it is only in the aftermath that it became a source of frustration.

And of course, it had to be _you_. The woman who cursed a blue streak and greeted him for the first time not with fear or caution, but with a dirty joke that made Steve snort (luckily cold by then) coffee through his nose. The woman who watched bad science fiction with him and Banner for the express purpose of loudly ridiculing it, and found a coconut cake recipe to make for his birthday that tasted so much like his mother’s that it brought tears to his eyes.

Bucky knew what he felt -- he’d never deny that to himself, not when having thoughts and feelings of his own had for so long been forbidden of him. But he wasn’t about to make a move. No one, especially not an Omega like you, would want a broken Alpha like him.

He sighed and slipped his arm beneath your blanket, unclipping your seatbelts. The skies were smooth and easy, and there would still be some time before landing, so he thought you may as well be comfortable.

You murmured softly in your sleep and snuggled closer, making a soft contented noise when Bucky put his arm around your shoulders. Your heat-scent seemed to grow stronger with the proximity but you didn’t wake.

“Buck?” Steve asked curiously. The weight of the simple word not going unnoticed by Bucky, an unanswered question hanging heavily there between them.

“She’s been strapped to a chair for days,” Bucky replied quietly, careful not to wake you. “Can’t hurt to let her relax a little, that’s all.”

He couldn’t help but breathe in the scent slowly wafting off of you. He was as subtle as he could be, knowing that Steve’s eyes were on him and not wanting to overstep his bounds, but he couldn’t help himself. It was familiar to Bucky, something that was heavily familiar but still unplaceable, until it suddenly it hit him.

 _Cupcakes_.

Bucky never had too much of a sweet tooth, but he had a soft spot for cupcakes. They were special -- even more special than the occasional butter braids or birthday cakes his mother baked. They only belonged to you, something small but sweet, and all yours.

There wasn’t much money when Bucky was young, not after his father hurt his back and had to give up his well-paying job at the docks to to operate a small newsstand on the corner. With three younger sisters, their small two-bedroom apartment was cramped and noisy, and Bucky had little time to himself. His sisters adored him and followed him around like ducklings, and everything he owned, from his coloring pages to his secondhand roller skates, became community property.

Bucky’s mother seemed to send when her only son was feeling a little harried. She’d smile at him kindly and fish around in the pocket of her pink checked apron, producing a shiny nickel that she had been hoarding for just such an occasion.

“Bucky, dear, run down to Dinkel’s bakery and get yourself a little cake, why don’t you?” she had said the first time, pressing the precious coin into his palm.

His silver-blue eyes went wide. “Should I ask’em to cut it up for you, Momma?” he asked.

His mother smiled. “No, Bucky. I want you to pick the biggest cake with the most icing and candies on top that you can get, and I want you to sit down on the stoop and eat it all up.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped open. “All by m’self?” he asked, voice in a hushed, astonished whisper.

Her smile had only grown. “All by yourself. Now scoot, before your sisters wake up from their nap!”

Bucky had run as fast and as far as his knobby little knees could take him, and picked out a vanilla cupcake frosted with thick chocolate and dotted with candy cherries. It seemed enormous to his small hands and he had gobbled down half of it in just minutes before deciding to take his time and savor it, wrapping three of the cherry bits in his handkerchief to bring back to his best pal, Stevie. He’d licked every bit of chocolate from his fingers and walked home with a full belly and a bright smile, ready to take on his little horde of screaming baby sisters.

After that, it seemed anytime that Bucky seemed to be down, his mom would be there with a nickel in her palm and a smile on her face.

Cupcakes were special. They could only belong to one person, not something to be shared and passed around. He could covet one freely, knowing that it was all his own and no one could wake it from him. The scent of that first cupcake had stayed with him. The sweet, homey aroma of warm vanilla, the decadence of the chocolate, the sweet piquant of the cherries… it was like a home beacon, calling to him, and there it was, curling up around him in the cloistered confines of the plane, your scent beckoning to him with the purest and most wholesome memories he had left.


	4. Chapter 4

You felt better by the time the jet landed. Though you could still feel the ache of early heat deep in your gut, you had slept well and relaxed enough against Bucky that some of the tension had seeped out of your aching muscles. Bucky was incredibly warm and had kept you cradled against his chest at an easy angle that let your body relax after the hours upon hours of rough restraint you had suffered. You still needed to stop at the medical bay -- you had an aching jaw, a fresh shiner, and a wrist that you were certain would need to be splinted -- but you could stand and walk under your own power again.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asked, frowning. He’d been annoyed that Tony hadn’t called for a stretcher to greet you upon arrival, and had been ready to carry you down himself. You’d put your foot down about that, adamant you could manage, but he still seemed concerned as you reached the join in the corridor where you would part ways.

“Quit askin’, Steve, she said she’s fine,” Bucky cut in, shaking his head.

“I’ll be okay,” you agreed, offering a small, pained smile that quickly devolved into a grimace. You thought one of your teeth might be loose from one of the blows you had taken. Unwilling to argue the point anymore, you turned to head towards medical but didn’t get more than ten paces before you froze.

You were overcome with a sudden feeling of abject terror and a crushing sense of loneliness. Everything in you, every drop of blood, every cell in your body, seemed to be screaming out in unison. You let out a strangled cry and turned on your heel, running as fast as you could manage in the opposite direction… and right into Bucky’s arms. It seemed as though he knew instinctively what you needed, whatever it was that sent you running towards him having touched him enough that he understood.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he muttered, shocked to feel you trembling in his embrace. It had to be some small vestige of his Alpha heritage, he reasoned, that made him stop when he heard your cry; his designation might have been physically dormant, but mentally at least it was still there. 

He didn’t think to question why Steve hadn’t reacted the same way.

For his part, Steve frowned even deeper than before. He said your name in a questioning tone and, when you didn’t answer, followed it with “Buck? What’s going on?”

“Not sure,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “You okay, doll?”

You nodded slowly, deeply embarrassed. What was wrong with you? Bucky was your friend; this had to be uncomfortable for him, you running at him like some needy, wounded Omega who couldn’t function without a strong Alpha at her side. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t taken your lumps in the field before -- it happened all the time.

You cleared your throat. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head. You pulled yourself out of Bucky’s arms even as he eyed you curiously, and cleared your throat again. “I don’t know what… what I was thinking. Maybe it’s whatever they shot me up with, I’ll go and see if Banner can run a blood test or…”

You turned to walk away and didn’t even manage three steps before you began to stumble, shaking like a leaf with a wanton cry of “Bucky!” on your lips. He was there in an instant, keeping you from hitting the ground, and the relief you felt at his touch was palpable… and terrifying.

“Holy shit,” you heard Steve mutter. “Buck, I think she imprinted on you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, ignoring the fact that you were once again shivering in Bucky’s embrace.

“Honestly, Steve, that shit’s old wives’ tales,” Bucky agreed, shaking his head. He said your name and you looked up at him, eyes worried and expression open. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you get down to medical and…”

“No!” you said suddenly, panic rising in your chest. “No, Bucky, don’t make me go, don’t make me go, I wanna be with _you_ , Alpha, please, please, don’t send me away!”

You didn’t even have time to think about what you were saying, the words spilling over your lips before you could stop them. All you knew in that moment was that you needed to be with Bucky, needed to have him near, needed your Alpha to keep you safe. 

When that thought resonated with you, your eyes widened. “Oh holy fuck…” you muttered.

Similarly startled by your outburst, Bucky nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he agreed.

Omega imprinting was, as far as you had always believed, a myth. An old wive’s tale, made up by well-meaning parents to protect their young Omega children for as long as they could, to frighten them into staying hidden away and out of sight (and scent) during even the earliest stages of their heats. Your mother had been very succinct in her warnings.

“You want to get yourself knocked up before you even get to high school?” she had said, hands on her hips. You were twelve years old and your second ever heat was due in a day or two; you were planning on heading to the mall with your friends, but your mother was having none of it. “All it will take is one good-looking Alpha to look your way, and you know what will happen!”

You rolled your eyes. “Mom, it’s at _least_ a day before it’ll start. I’ll be fine.”

She shook her head. “It’s too close. You’ll imprint, and make me a grandmother before I’m fifty!”

You frowned at her. “What’s ‘imprint’?” you asked; they hadn’t mentioned such a thing in any of your biology classes at school.

Your mother sighed and muttered something about the education system failing ‘these kids today’, and sat down in her armchair, patting the adjacent couch for you to sit and join her. Curiosity getting the better of you, you obeyed.

“It’s not just all about heats and ruts and pheromones,” your mother began. “There’s a psychological aspect to it as well. You’ll be out one day, near to your heat, and something that makes you a little unsure, or a little afraid… it will drive you to the nearest compatible Alpha, and you’ll imprint.”

“An early heat?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, but your mother shook her head.

“No, it’s more than that,” she said. “It’s like a bond without a bond. You’ll need that Alpha -- you won’t feel safe or whole without them. Everything will be broken and bitter and grey if they’re not with you, and when your heat really kicks in… well. There are plenty of Omegas out there, bonded to complete strangers, because of an imprint.”

You’d believed her then, and stayed home. Later, at school, your friends would tell you that it was just a scare tactic, that it wasn’t real, and your sex ed teacher would confirm that there was no real medical basis for such stories -- even if he looked a little bit like a believer himself.

You never thought there would come a day when your mother’s tale of warning would be proven true.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky stuck close to your side as you made your way to the medical wing and sat next to you on the gurney when the distance of only a few feet away proved too much for you to handle. After you had been patched up and your wrist splinted, they insisted on a final checkup before you could be released to your quarters, and that was when things got strange.

Dr. Cho was immediately fascinated by what she observed, marking the changes in your pulse and demeanor dependent on your proximity to Bucky, and your patience quickly wore thing.

“Look,” you finally snapped. “I’m really not here to be everyone’s little science project. Just tell me if I’m safe to go to bed so I can get the fuck out of here and ride out this bitch of a heat in peace!”

Dr. Cho frowned. “I’m only trying to help,” she reminded.

“C’mon, doll,” Bucky added, nudging you gently with his elbow. “Give the doc a chance to make sure you’re gonna be okay, yeah? We don’t need you burnin’ yourself out on whatever kinda drug they shot you up with.”

His tone seemed to calm you; even as you felt the annoyance seeping out of your system, Dr. Cho’s eyes were glued to the monitors her assistants had wired you with when you arrived, watching in rapt fascination in as your blood pressure dropped into a safer range and your pulse slowed to a more normal beat. She shook her head, eyes wide.

“I never thought I’d see actual medical documentation of an imprint…” she said in a voice full of wonder.

Your lips pressed into a thin line and you were about to make an acerbic retort, but Bucky chanced a breach of etiquette and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. The touch was like a balm to all of your anger, letting it slip away without so much as an unkind word passing your lips. You sighed and slumped against him, your eyes squeezed shut for a long moment before you spoke again.

“Great, Hel,” you said, feeling as though all of the energy had drained out of you. “I’ll be the fodder for your next research grant winning publication. But for the moment, can I just get out of here and go the fuck to sleep?”

“Oh? Yes, of course,” Dr. Cho said, shaking her head as if to clear her own daydreams of a Nobel prize in medicine from her mind. “Your vitals are remaining stable as long as you stay near to Sergeant Barnes. I realize this is a… rather delicate situation and an imposition on you both, but if you don’t want to stay in the infirmary for the duration of this heat, then you’ll need to stay with the Sergeant.”

“Excuse me?” you spat out, just as Bucky let out a startled, “How’s that now?”

Dr. Cho sighed and tilted the display monitor to face you. “There’s no accepted medical explanation for this other than an Alpha-Omega imprint situation, and that’s not even accepted medical science at the moment, but there it is. When you’re close by one another, you remain stable. When you’re not, your pulse is erratic and your blood pressure reaches a dangerous high.”

You grunted and crossed your arms. “Everyone in my family has high blood pressure,” you insisted stubbornly.

Dr. Cho rolled her eyes. “Sergeant Barnes, will you please go stand in the hallway?”

Bucky seemed uncertain. “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, doc…”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Jesus, Bucky, just do what she says so I can get out of here once!”

He let out a long, low breath, and shook his head. “If you say so, Angel,” he agreed, willing himself to ignore the way the long-unused nickname made you shiver.

It had been early in your days with the Avengers; you weren’t yet considered a member of the team, just a talented agent who was often assigned to work alongside them. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t born into a power or found early enough by SHIELD that you were immediately brought into the inner circle. The truth was, you were utterly ordinary. It was just something extraordinary that happened to you.

You had been in a rut; the bank where you worked had been sold and then sold again, the mortgage crisis stopping your career in finance dead in its tracks. You were newly divorced from your college sweetheart and forced to move back in with your parents, something that made you feel like the world’s biggest failure; to make it worse, the only work you could find was as an overnight cashier at a gas station. You didn’t think it could get any worse -- until the explosion.  
The gas station sat on the corner of a block largely taken up by a chemical sterilizing plant that took in recycled glassware for cleaning and processing. Unbeknownst to anyone but a handful of executives and board members at Steriglass, the company had started cutting corners to increase their bottom line. They switched to cheaper chemicals, purchased from offshore, unregulated manufacturers; they increased the heat in their processing to unsafe levels. It was a recipe for trouble and when one late night shift saw the main blast autoclave system left running long after the last load of glass was removed, disaster struck.

The blast took out the entire north end of the building and with it, your gas station. By some miracle, you had heard the brief alarm sounding from the Steriglass building and slammed the shut-off button for the gas pumps, limiting the blast area and stopping the possibility of a fireball cold. Even so, the damage was immense, and the rescue workers weren’t even looking to find you alive when they pulled you from the wreckage; they had simply been trying to maintain the integrity of the underground gas tanks to avoid any further disaster.

The combination of the chemicals and the heat had done something to you… changed your body so that you quickly found yourself able to move with more speed and strength than you logically should have. You kept it quiet, your parents afraid you’d be dragged off to some government lab for testing and you not wanting to make waves. It was around then that the world learned of the real-life superheroes living among them and it gave you _an idea_. You took the settlement from Steriglass, and went about changing your life.

You trained; you worked hard. You changed the way you saw your body. It could be a tool for you to help change the world. You first learned to box, then to fight; took courses in weapons training, combat, and considered enlisting in the military, but changed your mind and applied to SHIELD. They considered you passable but were set to reject your application in favor of a former Marine until, in a sudden burst of speed, you stole the pen out of your evaluators hand and sat waiting on the other side of the gym in just a few seconds. It was the first time you had shown anyone but your parents what you could do, and you were terrified you’d made the wrong choice, until your evaluator, Agent Hill, had smiled.

“We might have a use for you,” she declared.

It came quicker than you thought; after only a few weeks of intense training, you were deployed alongside Sam Wilson in an emergency rescue operation. Bucky had been doing some language training with a naval unit in the Persian Gulf when a Hydra splinter cell had learned of his presence on the carrier ship and made it their mission to retrieve the ‘asset’. Bucky had wound up submerged thirty feet deep in a rapidly sinking ship with eight sailors; he might have been able to swim for it, if he were alone, but they were losing oxygen and he wouldn’t leave the other men behind. That was where you came in: you could move fast on land or sea. You slipped through the water molecules in an instant, able to whip up enough water to lower depth, giving Bucky time to break through the hull and get the others to the surface. 

It was a one in a million chance of survival, and you’d helped make it happen. The sailors, struck by the appearance of a woman in a form-fitting white wetsuit “who was one helluva looker, lemme tell ya”, as Bucky put it, had called you their “angel”, and the name stuck.

These days, no one used it much; you were considered one of the team, even though you wore a cowl in combat situations to protect your identity for covert operations, and it had initially been something you were named by your compatriots who had heard the story and were jealous of your immediate promotion to work with the Avengers team and sought to denigrate you. But to hear Bucky say it, well… it _did_ something to you.


	6. Chapter 6

“Bucky,” you said, voice coming out far too soft and far too plaintive for your liking. You had meant to admonish him, to remind him that the name had become a source of aggravation very quickly after it had first been used and you didn’t much like to hear it these days, but it lost all effect when you had a pleading and wanton tone to your voice.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Bucky told you, misreading your intention. He reached out and squeezed your hand as he stood, sliding on the gurney from where he sat beside you. “I’ll be right outside the door, you just give a shout if you need me.”

Dr. Cho didn’t comment, her eyes glued to the monitors as Bucky stepped away, and with good reason; as soon as he was more than a few feet away, your pulse spiked and your breathing became erratic. With little thought to consequence, you burst into tears.

“Please don’t go!” you half-sobbed, and Bucky stopped in his tracks.

You felt like a loon. There were tears streaming down your face and you were shaking, your heart pounding in your chest and your blood pounding in your ears. You’d never felt worse in your life than you did at that moment: not after the explosion, not all those years ago when you made the decision to leave your husband, none of it. 

You couldn’t even think clearly. The same thoughts kept repeating in your mind, that Bucky didn’t want you, that he was rejecting you, that the Alpha found you lacking as an Omega and you weren’t good enough. You were being dismissed. Passed over. _Abandoned_.

The sounds around you became suddenly muted; the machines were still beeping and sounding their angry alarms, but they sounded far away. The fluorescent lighting overhead became almost blinding and you closed your eyes to block it out, feeling suddenly as though your head itself was some sort of monstrous balloon and you were floating away from it all.

When you came to, you were still on the gurney, but Bucky was there with you, holding you up against his chest. Dr. Cho was calling your name and when you became aware of your surroundings you squeezes your eyes shut and turned your head away from the probing penlight she had been using to look at your pupils.

“What happened?” you asked groggily.

“You had a dangerous spike in blood pressure, and you fainted,” Dr. Cho advised, sounding just slightly smug. You had proved her theory, it seemed -- at least, she read it that way. You preferred to believe there was a more logical explanation.

You frowned. “I feel fine now,” you countered. “Probably just some residual stress from the last few days, it has nothing to do with Bucky, or my heat.”

“You’re practically in Sergeant Barnes’ lap,” Dr. Cho reminded glibly, then gave you a surprisingly compassionate smile. “All things considered, this must be an uncomfortable situation for the both of you, but I don’t think there’s much that can be done.”

“It’s not so bad,” Bucky said, his voice rumbling through your chest as you spoke. “We’ve both had a lot worse, I bet. Right, angel?”

You didn’t bother to try and admonish him this time. “I’m not strapped into an old electric chair at the moment, so I’d call it an upside,” you joked weakly, and Bucky smiled.

Dr. Cho seemed pleased with your response. “That’s good,” she said. “Because the two of you will need to remain in close contact throughout the duration of your heat.”

If your life was a film, that was the point you’d hear the cliche record-scratch sound.

“Excuse me?” you spat out, just as Bucky spoke up with a “What’s that then?”

She sighed. “Sudden spikes of blood pressure can cause a lot of problems, up to and including actual brain damage,” she advised, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to ignore this, or separate from Sergeant Barnes until we can get a good handle on this.”

“If you think I’m spending my fucking heat in this glorified first-aid station…” you began, feeling your ire rising at the mere thought. 

“Look, doc,” Bucky cut in, his hand on your arm. “This last mission, it was rough. I can’t think it’d be good to be goin’ through a heat in a hospital bed after all that, ya know?”

You closed your eyes. Bucky’s hand felt like blazing fire against your skin; as much as yout heat had begun to push your temperature higher and higher, the comfort from Bucky’s heated touch made you want nothing more than to wrap yourself up in his arms and let yourself burn away. That thought made your eyes snap open and you took a few deep breaths to try and steady yourself, offering Bucky a weak smile when he glanced at you in concern.

“I’d rather not be put on display,” you added, shaking your head. “It’s not like you can offer any real privacy here. The longer I stay, the more people know. It’s fucking embarassing, Hel. Can’t I just sit it out in my quarters?”

Dr. Cho pursed her lips. “I don’t like the idea of leaving the two of you alone somewhere that we can’t monitor.”

“Whoa, wait, back the fuck up on that one,” you snapped in alarm, straightening up where you sat and trying not to lean too much into Bucky. “The _two_ of us? What the hell is that all about?”

With a long exhale, Dr. Cho crossed her arms over her chest. “I realize that you’re under stress at the moment, agent, but you need to pay attention. Whether this is an imprint situation or a psychological reaction to the trauma you’ve gone through, your stability is directly tied to your proximity to Sergeant Barnes. Right now, I can’t authorize your release unless I have some guarantee that the Sergeant will look after you during your heat, and even that I wouldn’t recommend. I’m sure you’re both well aware of each others’ status at this point, yes?”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Am I aware that Bucky is an Alpha, you mean? Is he aware that I’m an Omega at the start of what feels like the worst fucking heat I’ve ever had? Pretty goddamn sure we’ve noticed at this point, _doc_.”

“C’mon, angel, let the lady do her job,” Bucky cut in, and you felt the ire just drain from you. Much as you hated to believe that there was any merit to what Dr. Cho was telling you, you couldn’t deny what you were feeling.

Of course, there was another explanation for _that_ ; it just wasn’t something you were going to be sharing with anyone, especially not now.

You rubbed at your eyes, willing back a frustrated sob that was trying to break itself loose from your throat, and shook your head.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’m so sorry. I just… I can’t even think straight right now, I’m burnin’ the fuck up and I need some food and some sleep before I can even start to unravel this shitstorm.”

“I can look after her,” Bucky spoke up quietly. “It shouldn’t… it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Dr. Cho arched an eyebrow. “Under different circumstances, I would agree,” she said slowly. “But you’re an Alpha.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “It won’t be a problem,” he said firmly.

As far as you were concerned, that settled the matter entirely.


	7. Chapter 7

You left the medical bay a little worse for wear. Apart from dealing with your immediate issue of your heat beginning off schedule and worse than usual and the apparent imprinting, Dr. Cho had taken facial x-rays to check for any breaks in your jaw or problems with your teeth -- thankfully none found, just soreness -- and your wrist was splinted to help heal some bruising of the bone. You were mildly dehydrated, overly tired, and half-starved.

All in all, you’d had better days.

You leaned into Bucky as you walked down the long corridor towards the elevators that would take you to your quarters. You hated to admit that you needed the support, but your exhaustion had won out and you let him keep you on your feet as you trudged along in an awkward silence. You knew you must be producing heavy scent by then; it would be even stronger to him, given his Alpha designation, and it embarrassed you.

Your mini-rant about your status when you’d let slip about your misuse of suppressants was only the tip of the iceberg. The truth was, you hated being an Omega. Even beyond the way some Alphas and even Betas treated you -- like you were a commodity or a second-class citizen -- the hell that you were expected to entertain each month was thoroughly unfair. Your body put you through extremes of pain and fever in an attempt to force you into taking a mate and breeding; on top of all of that, you’d end up sexually frustrated for _weeks_ after if you hadn’t found someone compatible. All in all, without the small miracle of suppressants or a bonded mate, Omegas were stuck in a never-ending cycle of frustration and depression from the time they first presented until they finally caved and let some knothead have their way with them.

Suppressants had been the only way to go. You’d married a man you thought you had loved, and he hadn’t been an Alpha. It hadn’t worked out, for a variety of reasons, but even then you’d had to remain on constant suppressants just to live a normal life. It wasn’t _fair_. Alphas didn’t have to put up with this garbage.

You sighed heavily, irritated with the very thoughts running through your head, and the extra-sensory part of you that came to life when your heat reared its ugly head picked up on an immediate punch of concern from Bucky.

“I’m okay,” you said, conjuring up a weak smile for his benefit. “Just tired. I feel… really gross, you know? It’s not like they were letting me hit the showers.”

Bucky did exactly what you needed him to do in that moment: he laughed. “You don’t have to tell me, angel,” he said, still chuckling. “My sense of smell didn’t go bad when they put me in the freezer.”

You barked a startled laugh in reply and nudged him hard with your elbow. “You ain’t a fuckin’ rose there yourself, Barnes,” you drawled.

“What, me?” he asked with a wide grin. “That’s 100% pure American beefcake you’re turnin’ your nose up to, babydoll, and don’t you forget it!”

You laughed so hard you stumbled on your battered boots and leaned a little more heavily onto his shoulder, shaking your head.

“I cannot fucking believe you just said that,” you giggled, near delerious with laughter. “Oh my god, I wish I had a goddamn camera on me, that was fucking fantastic.”

You were still getting struck with intermittent giggles when you reached your quarters. You knew it was the product of fatigue and the strangeness of the situation, but you were unable to help yourself. As soon as you stepped and sided and headed for your bedroom, Bucky hesitating with uncertainty at the door, the wave of desperate need washed over you again and you hit your knees.

“Bucky… Bucky, please, I need you…” you breathed, your chest heaving. He was by your side in less than a breath’s time.

“I’m here,” he said, one arm thrown over your shoulder and the other gripping your forearm to help you rise back to your feet. “Tell me what you need, doll. I’m here.”

You forced a laugh and brushed away a few stray tears that had sprung from your eyes without your permission.

“Just… keep close?” you asked, and Bucky nodded.

Your quarters in the Tower had been your home for long enough that it should have been a comfort for you to have been there after the ordeal you had been through, but the entire place felt foreign and strange to you now. The air seemed to be filled with the bitter, acrid scent of the suppressant tablets you’d been popping every morning for over two years. It was all but suffocating; how had you never noticed it before?

You gave a humorless chuckle as Bucky followed you into your bedroom. You went right to your dresser, opening drawers and pulling out the bare necessities of what you would need: mostly sleep shorts and tank tops, not bothering with much else. Heats were hell; you’d sweat or slick your way through two dozen or more changes of clothing and you didn’t see any need to get bras or panties involved.

Besides, it was Barnes. He’d seen you at your worst -- and you weren’t far from it now, judging by the thick aroma of sweat you were certain was wafting off of you now.

“There’s a duffel under the bed, if you could grab it?” you asked Bucky, who was standing two feet away from you, looking out of place and uncomfortable, still wearing his full mission gear. It hadn’t even occurred to until then that, heat notwithstanding, he probably felt pretty gross and grungy too.

“Uh, sure,” he said, and turned towards your bed. You took a few steps towards him, not willing to test the distance, and watched as he reached down and lifted your bedframe two feet off the ground with little effort, snatching the bag with his free hand.

You smiled and shook your head. “Not the way I’d have done it, but I guess it works,” you told him.

Bucky grinned. “Gotta put the ‘super-strength’ bullshit to use now and again. Otherwise, what good is it?”

“Opening stuck peanut butter jars?” you offered, and he shook his head.

“Nah, that’s kid stuff,” he countered, and held the duffel bag open for you. “We’ll leave the jars to Steve. I’ll stick to haulin’ around the furniture.”

“Thanks,” you replied, throwing the clothes you had still been wearing into the open bag.

“But, uh, ya gotta tell me, angel,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow as you turned to gather more of your things and your footsteps faltered. He stepped a little closer, nodding at your grateful smile when you righted yourself and turned back to continue filling the bag. “What are we packin’ for?”

“I can’t stay here,” you told him. “It’s… it’s _cloying_... all I can smell is that shit I’ve been slamming every morning to stop these heats from coming and it… god, it makes me want to fucking puke!”

Bucky nodded slowly. “So we’re going…?”

“To your place?” you asked hopefully, biting your lip. “Look, I know it’s one hell of an imposition but I only seem to be thinkin’ clearly around you, and god damn, Bucky, heats are fucking awful even when I’m on my own but it looks like I’m gonna lose my shit if I don’t have you close enough to grab, so what do you say?”

Bucky barely blinked. “I said I’d look after you, doll,” he reminded, voice gone a little gruff with something he refused to acknowledge. You had looked so vulnerable as you had spoken, eyes wide and nervous and hopeful; it touched something in his chest that he didn’t want to think about, particularly given the situation. “Your place or mine, whatever you like.”


	8. Chapter 8

Stepping into Bucky Barnes’ private quarters was something of a novel experience. The entire team valued their privacy; when the lot of you spent time together, it was most often in designated common areas: a lounge, a kitchenette, and various training facilities around the building. Being allowed into an inner sanctum was something special, for all of you. Outside of Bucky’s help earlier, you hadn’t had any visitors in your home quarters at all, and you could count on one hand the number of times you had visited any other the others’. 

You’d certainly never been to Bucky’s before.

Stepping in the door, you were overwhelmed by the scent of autumn. Your mind was filled with images of falling leaves in shades of orange and red, the smoky scent of bonfires and the chill of a cold fall rain in the air. You’d had the barest hints of it before from Bucky himself, stronger since the stimulant you had been given had eclipsed your suppressants and brought your Omega senses back to life, but stepping into his personal space was like diving into a pool full of his unique Alpha scent.

There was the spice that came with the season lingering the air, full of nutmeg and ginger with the barest hints of cinnamon. Warm mulled cider and toasted pumpkin seeds, the musky sweetness of leaf pile just before you jumped in, and the sweetness of caramel and sugared coffee… it was all there. The placed was drenched in Bucky’s scent and from the first deep breath you took, it felt like _home_.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, noticing immediately the way you had paused as you stepped inside. He halted in his step immediately, not letting himself stray too far from your side.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just… I’ve never been in here before, Barnes. Feels like I’m getting a peek at some sort of secret temple,” you went on in a teasing tone, elbowing him just gently in the ribs.

Bucky snorted. “Not like you ever invited me over to your place either, kid,” he replied, tossing your duffel bag onto the couch.

“Don’t ‘kid’ me, old man,” you responded, frowning only in jest. Bucky easily picked up on the teasing tone to your voice and laughed.

“Hey, don’t ‘old man’ me, darlin’,” he drawled. “I may have a century in the bag but I’m still pretty.”

You offered a smile at his reply and then yawned and stretched, bracing your hands on the small of your back and wincing at the shot of pain in your wrist; you’d forgotten about the splint already. Your back was aching, a combination of time spent strapped in a chair and the cramping of early heat making you feel stiff and uncomfortable. Bucky seemed to pick up on it immediately.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” he offered. “Bet a hot shower would help loosen up your muscles a little, let you relax before the worst of the heat hits you.”

You heaved a deep sigh. “That would be great, actually,” you agreed. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Bucky replied amiably. “C’mon, you can use the master bath.”

You took the opportunity to survey his living space as you followed him towards the master bedroom. You hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, but still found some surprise in finding it to be a thoroughly modern space. The footprint was much the same as your own quarters, though where you had fairly impersonal furnishings, not having found the time or motivation to really make your mark, Bucky’s place was far more lived-in. A large black leather couch took up much of the hardwood floors of the living area, flanked on each side with a matching loveseat and a glass coffee table in the center. The couch faced a mantlepiece hovering over an electric fireplace set inside the marble slab wall, and mounted above it on the wall was a large flat screen. 

The bedroom just beyond was far more spartan; there was a small bed shoved into the corner and beside it a night table and a dresser on the opposite wall, but little else. You remembered just barely a comment Steve had made offhand, that Bucky could still become overwhelmed on occasion by the luxury and excess his new life provided and needed a more simple retreat from time to time. For all of the comfortable furniture and cozy conditions of the main living area of his quarters, Bucky kept a very simple and sparsely furnished bedroom. 

In spite of that, his scent in the air was even heavier in the bedroom.

“Bath’s just through here,” Bucky said suddenly, stopping so short that you ran right into him. “Uh… sorry about that.”

“My fault,” you replied, shaking your head. “Wasn’t paying attention. So… bathroom?”

While cuddled close on the jet bringing you home from your ordeal, your scent had been a brief taste of heaven for Bucky, in spite of the torment it caused. Leaning against the bathroom counter to maintain closeness while you cleaned up in the extravagant beveled glass shower stall was tantamount to torture. The heat of the water primed your scent and spread it throughout the small room in the steam that billowed out from the stall. Bucky hadn’t wanted to intrude on your personal time but you’d become agitated at the thought of him waiting even beyond the bathroom door, and you needed his help to remove your splint so you could bathe properly.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, hoping you wouldn’t realize that he was subtly drawing in the steamy cloud of your scent. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like stepping inside the warm bakeries of his youth, the air always flavored with the heated scents of sugar and vanilla.

It made him wonder if you’d taste as sweet.

Bucky shook his head and cleared his throat. “Do you have everything you need?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of the streaming water.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you called back.

“Should’ve grabbed some of your bottles and potions and whatnot before comin’ up here,” Bucky mused, arms crossed over his chest. “Now all you got to work with are my generic bar of soap an’ shit.”

“Potions?” you replied with a laugh. “Fucksake Barnes, I’m a woman, not a goddamn witch.”

“You know what I meant!” he called back, shaking his head. 

“I’m actually not that high maintenance,” you mused, rinsing the last of the shampoo from your hair. “I don’t go for that fancy high-end shit that I can afford now or anything. As long as it does the job and doesn’t smell too bad, I’m good. Throw me a towel?”

Bucky held out a towel but turned his head as the shower stall door opened and a rush of steam billowed out into the room, closing his eyes and breathing deep, hoping you wouldn’t notice. You took the fluffy white towel from his hand and dried the excess water from your hair before wrapping it around yourself.

“All clear,” you told him, trying but failing to hide the amused smile on your lips. You were so used to seeing Bucky in the field, all gruff business and almost mechanical skill, that his soft and almost gentle mannerisms at home were completely foreign.

“Let me grab your bag,” Bucky offered, poking a boot at your discarded mission gear where it lay in a pile on the floor. “Should’ve thought to bring it in to begin with, so you could change right away. Then we’ll get that splint back on.”

“Wait,” you said, reaching your uninjured arm to grasp Bucky’s elbow and stop him from turning away. He turned back to you, eyebrows raised in interest, but said nothing. 

“Look,” you began again. “The shower helped a lot but I feel this heat coming on really strong. It’s gonna be a bitch… I’ll be sweating and crying and groaning all over and I know that at some point, I’m going to hate the feel of a blanket or a sheet or even my clothes, so let’s get this over with now so we’re not uncomfortable with it later, okay?”

Bucky’s brows knitted in confusion. “What’s…?” he began to ask, stopping short when you abruptly let your towel drop to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

For one of the first times since Bucky had regained his full faculties, he found himself struck speechless. He had assumed there would be a few lines crossed; though he had never been with an Omega during their heat, he had heard enough over the years -- and, if he was being honest, had seen enough in a few skin flicks -- to know that fluctuation in body temperature was a problem that led many Omegas to spend the time either bundled in blankets or as scantily clad as they could manage. He just hadn’t expected to be getting a complete eyeful that quickly, and in his bathroom, no less.

Bucky closed his eyes, chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, ya got me,” he said. “You managed to shock me. But you got me once, doll, you’re not gonna get me again.”

You grinned. “Watch me,” you told him. You nodded towards the door and started to walk away. “Come with me to get my clothes, then I’ll wait while you shower.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bucky agreed, trying to keep his gaze above shoulder level as he followed but swiftly losing the battle. His eyes lit upon a garish old tattoo on your lower back, and he frowned. “Now what the hell is a ‘hollaback girl’?” he asked.

You laughed. “A very bad Spring Break decision!”

You flaunted it a little, knowing that Bucky’s eyes were drifting over all of your exposed skin. It lit a fire inside of you, made you feel a little flirty, a little… dangerous. You yawned and stretched when you reached the living room where your bag sat waiting, overextending when you knelt to pick it up, putting everything on display.

The sharp inhale of breath the latter earned from Bucky made you smirk.

“See something you like, Sarge?” you teased, pulling a thin pair of pink striped sleep shorts up over your hips.

“Ain’t a man alive who wouldn’t answer ‘yes’ to that question,” he drawled, and you could hear the smile on his face. You turned to face him, your tank top still folded in your hands.

“There are more than a few men out there who would be more interested in you than in me, I’m sure,” you responded with a wink.

Bucky whistled and shook his head. “Those fellas wouldn’t know what they were missing,” he told you, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring openly. He was being so brazen for a reason, you knew; this was a battle of wills, and he wasn’t going to let you win.

You couldn't help but laugh, and slipped the tank top over your head. “Okay, okay, you win,” you told him, shaking your head. “My tits are apparently not the showstoppers they used to me.”

“Darlin’, you could stop traffic,” Bucky replied smoothly, then cocked his head towards the shower. “I gotta get under the spray here, before I set off the hazmat sensors in this joint. You comin’?”

You paused before answering, taking a deep breath to ground yourself. You felt better than you had in days, and definitely better than you had since the first pangs of the supposed imprinting had begun to affect you. When you breathed in, all you breathed was Bucky, that wonderful scent of autumn air and reminiscence of fall leaves and fire pits, hints of buttery caramel on a crisp apple. Your mouth began to water.

“I think I’m okay,” you told him, opening your eyes. The room seemed a little brighter; you had no doubt that your pupils had blown dark and wide just from breathing in his scent. “Being here, in your space, it’s… it’s… I feel better here.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “You sure?” he asked. He didn’t want to leave you to fall into some kind of fit in his absence. He had promised he would look after you, after all, and Bucky Barnes was a man who kept his promises.

You yawned, unable to stop yourself. The more comfortable you were, the more the bone-deep exhaustion was becoming apparent. You’d been running on adrenaline for days, the drug cocktail you’d been dosed with only amping up your system. Now that you were home, now that you were _safe_ , your body was beginning to wind down.

“I’m good,” you told him, nodding. “I think I’m going to crash out on your sofa, honestly.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Bucky agreed, clearly still skeptical. “You need me, doll, you just give a shout, okay?”

You smiled tiredly and saluted. “Will do, Sarge.”

The steam from Bucky’s shower slipped beneath the bathroom door and through the ventilation system, filling the entirety of his quarters and seeming to surround you. It made you feel warm and sleepy, like being wrapped up in a comfortable blanket before a roaring fire. You took a moment to just stand there and let yourself breathe it in, bask in his scent and the way it settled all of your frayed nerves, and then… you got to work.

You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you had finished. Bucky’s apartment was set up for it almost perfectly; the couch and its flanking loveseats made an enclosed semicircle facing the fireplace, and it was a simple thing to push all of the cushions onto the floor. Then there was just pulling down the throw blanket from the back of the couch, stripping the pillows, sheets and blankets from his bed, the excess towels from the linen closet… even some clothes from his hamper that carried his scent, though they were stale with a few days' disuse.

The fatigue overtook you when you had finished and you snuggled down into the nest you had created, thinking of Bucky as you began to drift off. Would Bucky lay himself down there beside you? Would he hold you in his arms? 

What would that feel like? The warmth of his body, the chill of his prosthetic? Or would the metal warm in the heat shared between you, feel hot to the touch? What would it be like to touch him, to kiss him?

Would his lips be soft and slick? Warm and dry? Would breathe in your scent, welcome it in the way you had his? Would he burrow down into the blankets and cushions with you? 

You imagined it, all of it. The touch of his hands… the touch of his lips. You closed your eyes and imagined what it would be like to be _his_ , and you fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky came out of the bedroom some time later, still toweling off his damp hair, something witty and crude on the tip of his tongue, and then he saw you. His breath caught in his throat just at the sight of you, curled up in the little nest you had created, sleeping soundly, clutching one of his t-shirts in your hands.

He didn’t think Omegas did this sort of thing anymore; he’d never really heard of it since he had been brought out of Hydra’s fog and gotten more attuned to the modern world. Even in the media he had encountered, television and films and the like, he couldn’t remember one instance where he had seen a nesting Omega. In his day, it had been the norm. 

A compatible couple meets, the Omega builds a nest, the Alpha cares for them through a heat, and once everyone has their heads back on straight, usually there’d be a wedding. It was primitive behavior, some vestige of whatever early humans had needed to keep their species thriving; perhaps that was why it wasn’t talked about anymore.

Perhaps it was just kept behind closed doors, considered too private, too sacred to show on screen, or even just too embarrassing.

Just seeing you there brought to Bucky a sense of yearning that he couldn’t ignore. God, but he wanted you. He _wanted_ you, all of you, everything you had to offer. He wanted to touch you, to kiss and soothe you; he wanted to cradle you in his arms and know what it felt like to wake up beside you.

He wanted to _take_ you, to make you his, to show the world that you belonged to him and him alone.

He wanted to be _yours_ , your Alpha. 

And it was going to drive him crazy.

For once, it wasn’t just a case of self-loathing, though God knew he did enough of that. He’d had enough therapy by now that he knew no matter how much his mind tried to tell him that he wasn’t worth a pound of salt, it was just a function of his slightly fried and frostbitten brain. No, it wasn’t he thought that he wasn’t worthy of finding a partner in life, or that he was poison for any life he touched, not anymore. Those illusions had passed; the reality was a far more tangible problem.

What good was a broken Alpha to anyone?

Bucky had become so lost in his own thoughts that he barely registered when you began to move. You had been sleeping soundly, deep and dreamless sleep that was allowing your exhausted body time it needed to heal before your heat took a stronger hold, when the scents around you began to change. It was as though something were burning: not the notes of autumn bonfire that you had loved about Bucky’s scent, but rather something dangerous, a flash fire in an abandoned building or overlooked attic, startling you awake.

You blinked your sleepy eyes open. The scent was fading almost as quickly as it had come, and you understood immediately what it was: a distress signal.

“Alpha,” you called groggily, noting even with your sleep-fogged gaze that Bucky visibly relaxed at the sound of your voice, the tense and rigid position of his shoulders going slack and comfortable. 

“Did I wake you?” he asked, frowning. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you, couldn't imagine that he’d made any noise that would have roused you from your dreams.

“No,” you lied, and turned onto your side, snuggling into the cozy nest you had made. You yawned and smiled, reaching your free hand out to beckon Bucky forward. “C’mon, Buck. Come get comfy.”

He gave a soft laugh. “That’s okay, doll. You just get some rest.”

Your logical mind knew he was just being polite, perhaps a little embarrassed or uncomfortable with the suggestion of curling up beside you, but you couldn’t help the sudden visceral reaction it drew from you. You crumpled in on yourself, the sting of an Alpha’s rejection making you grieve and ache, a choked sob rising from your throat.

“No, sweetheart, don’t…!” he began, taking a step towards you with his hands held up in a semblance of surrender. His nostrils flared, the scent of your anguish unknowingly mirroring the scent of his distress, as though something were burning.

“You don’t want me,” you sobbed out into a pillow. “My Alpha doesn’t want me!” Your own behavior would have horrified you on a better day, but your mind and body were so flooded with hormones and conflicting signals that you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All that mattered in that moment was that Bucky was there and you were offering him everything, and he refused it.

Bucky was there in mere seconds after you began to cry. “No, c’mon, you know it’s not that,” he told you, slipping in beside you with an eae that would seem practiced if you hadn’t seen the lonely twin mattress sitting in his near empty bedroom. “Don’t think that. Any fella with half a brain would jump at a chance to be with you, angel.”

He had slipped in between the pillows and blankets but kept himself at an arm’s length, a distance you closed almost immediately. You threw your arms around him, pressing your face into his bare chest and ignoring the startled shiver he gave at the sudden closeness. You ignored it, needing the skin to skin contact, feelin all of your anxiety start to slip away as you were enveloped in his calming scent and his strong embrace.

“I need you,” you whispered, the truth of your words striking deep into your heart as you spoke them, and wasn’t that the bitch of the whole thing? You needed him, not because he was an Alpha, not because he had promised to help you through this mess of a heat and imprinting madness, but because he was _Bucky_ , and you had always wanted him. Always. “Why don’t you want me, Bucky? I’d be good for you. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but I could be. I could be a good Omega for you.”

He stroked his prosthetic hand through your still damp hair, careful not to catch or tug any strands. “I know you could, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You could be everything I ever dreamed of, doll. Believe me, I know it.”

That was enough for you, for the moment. You let yourself relax, the fatigue of all you had endured and the weight of what you were suffering through weighing heavily on your mind. You needed some time to relax and recharge; wrapped up in Bucky’s embrace, you felt truly safe for the first time in days. In spite of his words and the rejection you had felt, the scent he was putting off was warm and welcoming. You let yourself drift, imagining for the moment that this could be your everyday.

Pretending was so easy, even Bucky let himself fall into that trap. He closed his eyes and held you close, imagining as he heard your breathing slow and felt your body relax that he was a century away, living in some cheap rented flat with his Omega wrapped up in his arms. The life he could have had -- maybe _should_ have had -- would always be out of reach, but for now, he could have this: an imagined life with his own perfect pain-in-the-ass Omega at his side, when the world was simpler and felt a lot less dangerous.

When he was the kind of Alpha that an Omega could actually want.

His own exhaustion from the mission -- the guilt at losing track of you, of allowing you to be taken captive, of seeing you tied up and nearly assaulted by the scum that held you -- began to creep in and before he realized it, he had fallen asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

You woke to your body on fire.

You’d been trembling in your sleep and on instinct, Bucky had gripped you tight, keeping you pressed close to his chest, his heartbeat helping to soothe you long enough for you to rest, but the first true spike of your heat had been more than even his closeness could quiet. 

Your skin felt like it was burning, your abdomen cramping and tightening to the point of nausea. You were slick with sweat, your scanty shorts and top clinging to you like a second skin, the rise in your temperature making your vision swim until you had to squeeze your eyes shut to fend of dizziness.

“Bucky,” you mewled, aching for his touch. “Bucky, Alpha, I need you…”

Your cries woke him quickly and you reached to touch his face, needing that extra point of connection before you brought your lips to his. Sleepy and awash in your scent, Bucky didn’t know any better than to kiss back, nibbling at your lips only to deepen the kiss immediately as you parted your lips in supplication. He tasted like warm whiskey and cinnamon; if not for the burning ache inside of you, you thought you might be content to just kiss and kiss and kiss him for the rest of your days.

Kissing Bucky was like breathing. It was simple and sweet and natural, done without thought or planning, just a long quiet urge brought to bear. You loved touching his face, feeling the bristle of his stubble against your palms, the sharpness of his cheekbones beneath your fingertips. There was a feel of luxury to it, a sense of relaxation, of letting go. In the part of your mind that was still conscious of what was going on around you, it occurred to you in an abstract way that you’d never seen Bucky like this: _free_.

It wasn’t a bend of the ego that made you realize he wanted this. Heat hormones could draw a reaction, of course -- that was just biology. But this? This was desire. This was tenderness. His hands, flesh and blood and a prosthetic that felt almost natural to your senses, skated up beneath the sweat-damp material of your thin tank, reveling in the touch. His kiss drifted, first to that perfect little soft spot just below your ear, then to the corner of your jaw before claiming your lips again.

He whispered your name, voice gone rough and raspy, and you bodily shuddered. You were no blushing virgin; you’d had partners before, outside of any heat nuisances, who had taken you to highs you never could have imagined. But this? Hearing the way he spoke your name? A wanton whisper, just for you? You’d never heard anything so erotic in your life. The very blood in your veins was boiling with the flame of desire.

And _that_ is what brought Bucky out of his reverie.

There was no real hard science behind scents and sexes. There were customs, assumptions made; it was clear that an Omega in heat will attract any Alpha in the vicinity, the same way a virile Alpha in rut would draw out Omegas like moths to a flame. Those were the only real concrete facts that anyone could agree on. The rest, well… it was a little more difficult to explain.

A day ago, you wouldn’t have believed that imprinting existed. It was a story -- a warning, like one of the old Grimm fairy tales, told to keep you from getting yourself into trouble by scaring you into caution.

A year ago, you wouldn’t believed the idea that a mate existed for everyone and it was just down to finding them. Your husband -- _ex_ -husband -- hadn’t believed that either, until he found his other half. Your attraction to Bucky had been there from the start; it never occurred to you that it was anything more than chemical, but now? Now there was so much wrapped up in what you were feeling, brought to the surface by the unbearable need within you. 

You _wanted_ him, not for a night, not to make this miserable heat end, but for keeps, because something inside you had sensed that he was _yours_. You understood that now in a way you never could before, when you thought your burgeoning attraction was a simple cocktail of hormones thrumming in your veins, your sensibilities victim of his pretty eyes and gruff demeanor that was belied by a smile that could make your heart stop in your chest.

Your resolve in the matter was even further strengthened by the way he pulled gently away and sighed, eyes half-lidded and sleepy but all too aware of what was happening in the little nest you had built on his living room floor.

“Angel, no,” he said, voice soft and woefully sad. You whimpered and he sighed, smoothing back your hair before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard, babydoll.”

“It hurts,” you whispered, eyes filling with tears at the loss of contact. His touch, his kisses, had been a balm for the ache inside of you, not taking it away entirely but soothing enough for you to forget for a little while.

His eyes were dark and regretful. “You know what you need to do,” he reminded, glancing around as though he were preparing to give you some privacy.

“No, please!” you said, wild panic suddenly clawing at your chest. “Don’t leave me, Bucky, please don’t leave me all alone, I need you, need you here with me!”

He sighed, even as you snuggled close against his chest. “Honey, you know I can’t help you,” he said, voice thick with something you were too far gone to name.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered, pressed so tight against him that your lips brushed against his chest as you spoke.

He shivered; you felt it, the way his body shook, so gentle but impossible to ignore, pressed so tight against yours. Then he sighed, his strong arms maneuvering you beneath the blankets and sheets, gently turning you over so that your back pressed against him. He took one of your smaller hands in his and guided it down your body, moving it towards where you needed it to be.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you gotta do this, get your heartrate down,” he told you, body still moulded against yours, lips pressed close to your ear as he spoke. You knew he was right; it was the way an Omega’s body worked, vestige of some need to breed in man’s early ancestors, beckoning forth strong mates with a promise of a successful lineage in an intoxicating scent. The bond came in the way an Omega’s body functioned during a heat, the pain that cried out for a mating to stop it and the drop in body temperature that followed, forcing the Alpha to hold you close in the aftermath, unspoken words in the air between you as a body began to weave its way together. 

The pain would still be there after this, you knew. Passing a heat on your own was as painful as it was frustrating; you could alleviate some of the pressure by bringing yourself to orgasm but it would just keep coming until the pent up hormones in your system had been depleted. It was hell, pure and simple, but it would be worse to go without any relief at all.

“Alpha,” you whined, grinding back against him, reminding him in a way that he could end this hell for you if he tried, but he just peppered kisses along your neck and continued to guide your hand, pushing beneath the waistband of your shorts. You twined your fingers with his, dragging his hand down with your own, needing him touching you alongside your own hand. It took so little, your body hyper aware of the drag of his fingertips, the press of his lips… it seemed he had barely touched you that you were gasping his name, doubling over and shaking through the most intense orgasm of your life, Bucky wrapped around you like a second skin.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky was still sleeping soundly when you woke. He hadn’t left your side, his arms wrapped around you as you drifted off; he had even pulled a blanket over the two of you after you had slipped into a deep sleep, letting himself drift alongside you. You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, watching him sleep for a moment, face peaceful and free of expression for probably the first time you’d ever been privy to. 

He always said that you were a pain in the ass, though you often worked well together in the field. He acted like you were a liability when you were assigned to his detail, even as you’d fall into a smooth sort of dance when you worked together, little need to ask what the other required, always falling into perfect rhythm, be it in a fight or a simple act of surveillance. Later, he’d find something to complain about: you were too slow, too fast, too erratic. You never paid it much mind, and soon no one else did either.

You gave him shit in the field as much as he gave it to you afterwards.

 _You’re getting soft, Barnes_ you had told him, mere hours ago. He’d hardly raised an eyebrow.

 _You wanna do your thing here or should I just shoot’im?_ , he’d said. Anyone else would have treated you like some wilting flower, the damsel in distress that needed rescuing. Bucky had simply freed you from restraint and given you leave to decide if you were up for taking an active role in your own rescue or not.

He trusted you. He _liked_ you. He’d more than proven that in the last few hours.

You watched him a little longer than you had intended. He was beautiful, in his own way. It seemed sometimes that there was a permanent crease to his brow, thoughts of his own past and what the future could hold weighing heavily on his mind whenever he was given leave to relax. There was no downtime for Bucky; if he wasn’t working, it seemed he was just reliving his own years of hell. The rare moment when a smile would break through was a wonderful thing, but you thought that perhaps this was better.

Eye closed. Brow relaxed. Breathing slow and even. _Peace_.

You reached out without thinking, running the curled knuckles of your hand across his cheek, feeling the stubble there and remembering how good it had felt against your cheek when he had held you tight from behind, speaking directly into your ear in a low harsh whisper, guiding you to do what he knew you needed to find some relief. You really should have been more cautious; he was still Bucky, after all, not the man you desperately wanted him to be but the damaged one who had been pulled from Hydra’s clutches with more baggage and trauma than he ever felt fit to discuss. He could still react violently. You should have known better.

But he slept on, a soft sigh slipping from his lips as you touched his face. For a moment, just one brief moment, his lips pulled into a smile -- not one of the tight-lipped, almost pained smiles that you saw most often, but a real one, soft and sweet. You hoped that he was having a nice dream.

You hoped it could even be about _you_.

You sighed. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. You were too old to be harboring a secret crush on a coworker who clearly wanted nothing to do with you. All of this -- the relaxation on his face, the way he was taking care of you? Bullshit hormonal instinct, nothing more. You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

You regretfully pulled your hand from his cheek, letting your fingertips drift down to his jaw before pulling them away entirely, and poked him in the shoulder.

“Barnes. Wake up,” you said, loud enough to make him grumble in his sleep. You frowned and poked him again. “Barnes, c’mon. Wakey wakey.”

You knew he was awake the moment it happened; that ever present frown returned to his face.

He opened one icy blue eye and glared up at you. “What?” he asked, in what you knew could only be feigned irritation.

You gave a put-upon sigh. “I’m gross and sticky and starving,” you declared. Your first bout with your heat spike had left its remnants all over your legs and thighs, and, it seemed, some of the sheets in your nest. That was of little consequence; there were enough layers that you could peel off the mess and toss them aside, at least until the next spike came. 

The rest of it would require at the least a change of clothes, but you were feeling so grungy that you thought another shower might be in order.

Bucky grunted and sat up, raising an eyebrow when he noticed that you were perched in his lap. “Yeah?” he asked, looking none too perturbed by the scent you were putting off. You were fairly certain he had inhaled a little more deeply than necessary at least once or twice since he had been roused to full consciousness. “Who’s fault is that?”

You snorted. “Uh, the fuckrag who shot me up with a heat instigator drug?” you replied. “Mother Nature who fucked me up with this Omega bullshit? The docs in med bay who wouldn’t give me something to head this shit off for good?”

“How about the Omega who didn’t take care of herself right and now has to deal with this heat bullshit instead of getting the suppressant shot she wants?” Bucky replied, smirking at you with clear amusement in his sleepy gaze. “Seems to me you wouldn’t be going through this if you had done what the docs wanted to begin with and skipped your suppressants every couple months like they say you’re supposed to.”

You glared and punched him hard in the shoulder; he didn’t even flinch.

“Bite me,” you told him, tone insulting even as, in the back of your mind, you found yourself wishing that he would. “Look, man, this whole situation blows, okay? Don’t lecture me on what I should do when you haven’t had to go through this garbage, okay? It’s not a great situation but you’re stuck with me for the time being. Do your goddamn part.”

Bucky yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “What exactly is ‘my part’?” he asked. “I’m takin’ care of you here, ain’t I? Promised to see you through this mess. Keep you safe. That’s pretty much all I’m good for, angel.”

You rolled your eyes. “Me Omega. You Alpha. You _provider_. I’m gonna take a shower and change, you can go make some food. I’m fucking _starving_.”


End file.
